Dark as the Dawn
by holdingusback
Summary: WWII. A time of mass destruction and peril that claimed the lives of thousands of young soldiers willing to give their life for their country. This one young soldier in particular just so happens to be the future Earl of Grantham, and with so much at stake, has chosen to leave his family and fortune behind in exchange for a life of war. Centered around George, Matthew & Mary.
1. The Moment After the Good One

**What a dramatic little title that is.**

**Hello! This is my first official multi-chapter story I've ever posted on here, and I hope it does Downton Abbey and my favorite characters justice as well as the characters I've gotten to create through writing this. Obviously this is an AU because my baby is alive and well, so just pretend that all that crap from the last thirty seconds of season 3 never happened.**

**I'm a very big WWII junkie, which makes combining one of my favorite tv shows with the incredible history of that war incredible to write. Right now I already have 6 chapters written, so the only thing that should stand in the way between updates is just going back and editing anything I don't like, and maybe school. Thanks for checking it out and ya know, review or favorite maybe?  
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**Also, I've put all the ages that the characters are at the beginning of this story below because I know when I read a fanfiction and don't know how old the characters are it drives me nuts. (special thanks to the Downton Abbey wikia page for that) I'll probably continue to do that for any main characters that appear as well.  
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* * *

_Mary Crawley age 48 _

_Matthew Crawley age 54_

_George Crawley age 18, born September 3__rd__, 1921 __**(yeah it says born between 9th & 30th of September on the wikia page but it's more dramatic this way so bare with me)**_

_Elizabeth Crawley age 17, born 1922 _

_Christopher Crawley age 14, born 1925_

_Nicholas Crawley age 12, born 1927_

_Robert Crawley age 73_

_Cora Crawley age 71_

_Anna Bates age 53_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_3 September, 1939_

The acres of lawn were covered in dew as Nicholas treaded through the grass, collecting the beads of water on the bottom of his boots. Sunrise peaked from over the trees, hitting his face with the gentle glow of a new day. He finished off the piece of toast he'd managed to swipe from the kitchens and proceeded towards the stables.

His favorite horse, Maggie, was already waiting for him, sticking her head out of the stall and nibbling on his hat.

"C'mon now, Maggie," he scolded gently, taking the tweed cap from her mouth. Nicholas dropped some hay in the trough and waited for her to finish her breakfast whilst he chatted idly to the horse. Sometimes he swore she understood his meaningless talk. Although if that proved to be true, this horse knew way too much. "It's George's birthday today," Nick began, leaning against the opposite stall. "He turns eighteen. I think he's lucky. I mean, he's almost an adult, and when you're an adult you can do anything you want. Life is a lot easier when you're older. You don't have anybody to discipline you, you're rather self-reliant…you can go to bed when you want," he said with the childlike excitement his parents swore he had, yet he denied. Nicholas shook his head, longing for the days that he could slip out of his home in the early morning without fear of being caught and scolded. Maggie neighed and nodded her head enthusiastically, letting him know that she was ready for their morning route. "Alright, let's go then," he answered her, grabbing the saddle off the wall and opening the stall. Soon they were breezing across the acres of land that promised the beginning of a peaceful day.

After a good five minute sprint to the top of his favorite hill, Nicholas let Maggie rest while he looked over the grounds, watching the sun bathe his home in pale orange light. If he was honest with himself, Nick was jealous of his older brother not just for all the factors that came with adulthood, but because he knew George would one day inherit the estate he so loved to look over every morning.

Nicholas didn't understand much about inheritance except for the basics that his mother and father taught him; that one day in the far future, when their father has died, the eldest son inherits their house and gets to run everything along with it. To him it couldn't sound dismal no matter how hard anyone tried to make it sound serious or difficult. His brother however looked upon it as the sole purpose he'd been put on this planet. Since the day he found out what inheritance was George became his grandfather's shadow, eager to know everything there was to run an estate. Nicholas soon found his older brother to become more and more dull as the years went on as the pressure became more and more evident in his features. He couldn't understand why George worried about it so much, their grandfather was still much alive and their father was only middle-aged, he had decades before it would be his time to step up and take the spot of his father.

"Come on, Maggie," Nick spoke softly. "We should get back before anyone notices we're gone."

* * *

Matthew Crawley squinted at the morning light that suddenly filled the room with curtains were drawn back. Beside him, Mary buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck in a feeble attempt to block out the dreadful morning light.

"Good morning, Anna," Mary groaned.

"Good morning, milady," Anna replied, setting the tray of breakfast at the end of the bed.

"Is Nicholas back from his ride yet?" Matthew asked. Anna linked her hands in front of her and smirked.

"I believe so. One of the kitchen maids said she saw him and Maggie returning about a half hour ago."

"Alright, thank you, Anna," he replied. Anna nodded and made her way towards the door only to stop short.

"Oh, and give Master George our best wishes for his eighteenth birthday."

Mary's heart sank just a little. "Thank you, we will."

Once Anna had gone, Matthew kissed the top of Mary's head, wrapping both arms around her. "I can feel the nostalgia radiating from you."

Mary leaned back to half-heartedly smirk at him then resumed the frown etched in her porcelain features. "He's so grown up, Matthew. Our son is eighteen."

"He is…and he's a very wonderful young man." Matthew sat up, and she followed, silence ringing out a long moment. "We've made a good life, you know," he stated proudly. "We have four children, this home, a fortune, and each other…and we actually like each other…which is more than most married people could say," he tilted his head to look at her, smiling softly. She pondered him for a moment, realizing he was right.

"You're right…we're very lucky. Sometimes I honestly don't know how we got to be so lucky, I feel like I don't deserve a bit of it," Mary replied, exasperated. Matthew grinned, throwing back the covers and padding over to the tray Anna left behind. "You do deserve it, darling," he said, picking up the tray and setting it in front of her. "You deserve every bit of it." With this he leaned over and gave her a loving kiss, stroking her cheek with this thumb. "I'll see you in a little while."

"I'll be down soon, I want to see George before he leaves for the village this morning and mourn that my son is too old for my liking and that I'm getting old as well," Mary said solemnly, beginning to eat the breakfast before her.

Matthew simply chuckled. "My darling, you could never be old to me."

Mary cocked an eyebrow at him and sipped her tea. "Now you're just being flattering."

"And what is wrong with that?" he questioned, crossing his arms with an amused expression.

"Nothing, as long as you're not expecting anything from it," she replied slyly, making Matthew wickedly grin in return. He paused before retaliating.

"Flattery with expectations is below me. I simply wish to remind you of the affections I have, that are as strong as the day I married you. Is that wrong of me?" he stood before her, groggy and grinning, his hair tousled from sleep, as beautiful and good and loving as he'd been all his life, and she could hardly remember loving him more.

"No, I suppose not," Mary answered, returning from her stupor as he headed for the dressing room door. "Although, wanting something out of it now and again isn't so bad."

Together nineteen years and she could still catch him off guard. Fighting the urge to act on impulse and return back to bed with her, he shook his head and made a mental note of it. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

* * *

Mornings were not Elizabeth's strong suit. She frankly hated everything about them. Most days she refused to even go down to breakfast due to the fact that she had to wake and be dressed all before the crisp hour of 8 o'clock. But this morning she had actually made an effort to wake when Hannah came in to do so, dressed, and was at the breakfast table before any of her family.

Elizabeth ate her breakfast slowly, waiting patiently for her family to finally come down. The footmen entered then, carrying a variety of trays and setting them on the table against the wall. They seemed startled to see her down here so early and nodded to her. "Milady," Michael stated.

"Good morning, Michael…Andrew," she addressed the other, dark haired, blue-eyed boy. Andrew smiled before continuing with his work. Mr. Clark was the next to be surprised to see her sitting there alone as well.

"Good morning, milady," he said, taking the morning newspaper off the tray he was carrying and setting next to the silverware her grandfather would be using.

"Good morning, Clark. Am I terribly early for breakfast?" Elizabeth asked, earning a small smile from Mr. Clark.

"Only a few minutes, Lady Elizabeth. Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley are normally down the same time every day." As if on cue, her father appeared behind Clark, smiling when he saw her.

"Hello, what are you doing down here so early?" Matthew asked, seating himself across from her.

"Can't I wake up early and join my family for breakfast?" she replied nearly sarcastically, smirking.

Matthew chuckled. "Not since you were Christopher's age you haven't."

She could not deny that, both her younger brothers seemed to be early risers - earlier than most of the servants. "Yes, that is true." Elizabeth paused a long while whilst she took a bite of egg. "Truth be told I wanted to see George before he went off to the village this morning and wish him a happy birthday."

Matthew smiled. Like mother like daughter.

"That's nice of you. He should be down soon. He normally follows not too far behind me," he replied, beginning to eat as well.

Elizabeth noticed her father freeze his actions, staring at the newspaper beside him. Matthew put down his fork and knife and reached for the paper.

"Papa? What is it?" she stopped her actions as well, heart sinking from the concern in her father's features. His eyes quickly scanned pages, face laced with anxiety. He pondered the information a moment before putting on a smile and replacing the paper to its spot on the table.

"Nothing, darling. Nothing to concern you with."

Elizabeth could easily tell that whatever her father had just read was not "nothing," but decided it wise not to pry. She knew from experience if it was very serious her parents would discuss it and even sometimes her grandparents, and with time she would find out. It _was_ how she found out about both of her little brothers.

He felt nervous for some reason. It's not like turning eighteen would change anything. He would still be living at Downton, still live his life in the same day-to-day fashion, still practice the piano, ride with his brothers, tease his sister…but for some reason today felt different. Something about this day made him uneasy, placing a rather large knot in his stomach. George looked in the mirror, straightening his tie, fixing his hair. He dismissed his feeling of uneasiness as just the pressure of growing older and went down to breakfast.

"We must hope and pray it won't happen, Matthew." George froze on the stairs, hearing his grandfather and father around the corner at the bottom. He slowly eased down the stairs further, listening intently.

"But what if it does? What if it happens all over again? I don't think I could bear it. It was bad enough last time, but this time –"

"You cannot dwell right now, my boy. We'll know well enough in a few hours."

"George?" his mother's voice startled him out of the stone his body had become. She hurried down the stairs and met him on the platform, placing both hands to his cheeks with the proud smile George knew she reserved for only her children. "Happy birthday, darling. How grown up you are."

"Thank you, mother. Although, I don't feel very grown up yet," he joked as she kissed his cheek. They both turned and continued down the stairs, greeted at the bottom by Lord Grantham and Matthew; both pale with fear and worry lining every part of them and both putting on bright smiles for their sake.

"Good morning, and happy birthday, George," Robert spoke up to them, pursing his lips a moment.

"Thank you, grandfather," he answered with a courteous smile, trying so desperately to decipher what was going on.

"I do believe breakfast is being served, should we join?" The flustered Lord Grantham suggested.

"Of course," Mary replied hesitantly. George glanced towards his mother next to him on the platform and could immediately tell she was in the same position he was, her eyes flickering from one man to the other in attempt to figure out what was the matter. With no further evidence, they both descended the rest of the wooden stairs and proceeded towards the dining room.

"Might I speak to you?" Matthew tried near her ear quietly, causing her to stop dead in her tracks and follow him into the library.

"Matthew, what is it?" she pleaded, truly frightened by the fear of the brave man before her. Matthew paced between wall and couch a few times before halting, taking a deep breath, and focusing on Mary.

"You know that things have been quite tense overseas for awhile now...but they're getting much worse," he began carefully. "And it's only a matter of time before it reaches Englan-"

"Matthew, what are you trying to tell me?" Mary interrupted, his suspense driving her mad.

He let out a shaky breath, feeling his whole body tremble. "By 11 o'clock this morning war could be declared on Germany."

Mary gaped at him, stomach lurching as a lump in her throat formed. "What do you mean "could be declared?"" Her voice was low but panicked, staring at a button on his jacket.

""Could be", as in, if Germany does not agree to withdraw their invasions of Poland by 11 o'clock this morning…Britain will be declaring war on Germany." Matthew remained quiet, watching as Mary placed a shaking hand to her mouth with widened eyes. She stepped back, reaching out to the sofa for support.

After a long moment Mary lifted her head to look properly at him. "They'll take him, Matthew," she whispered.

She didn't need to say a name for him to understand who they would be taking. George was of age now.

"He won't be enlisted unless it is absolutely necessary, darling," Matthew attempted to comfort her. "Right now we must hope to God it doesn't begin at all, and we will take it as it comes." His words did little to comfort as she remained gripping the sofa, feeling numb and dizzy. "Should we tell the children?"

Mary thought for a moment before releasing her hold on the upholstery and coming back to stand by him. "No, we mustn't. Not until it's official. I don't want to worry them. I'm assuming papa and mama know?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes…I spoke to your father already and he agrees we mustn't worry until it's been confirmed."

"Are you worried?" she asked him, her eyes piercing into his. She knew the answer before he could give it.

"Of course I am. You and I know what war can bring…which terrifies me immensely."

Mary tried to take a deep breath and think positively about the potential destruction that war brought - Matthew was past the age expectancy and George would hopefully think himself too young to go off to war, he was just a boy after all. After all, George was looking forward to running the estate one day, not dying in battle. These thoughts managed to calm her, as untrue as she knew them to probably be.

* * *

_10:39…10:40…10:41_

Mary glanced around at the library. How many times had she sat in this room? How much family history did these walls hold? How many more years did this home have before it came collapsing down around them? If war was declared, what did the future hold for these walls or for the people she loved inside them?

"Mama?" Christopher's voice startled her back to reality. "Are you alright?" He asked from the settee across from her, book in hand and laying on it in a rather un-gentlemanly fashion, but Mary didn't have the heart to scold him right now.

"Yes, darling, I'm alright," she smiled at him, seeing the similar worry in Christopher's eyes as Matthew normally gave her. "You know, the Governess will be coming around soon. I know you and Nicholas hate being cooped up inside for hours upon hours so before you are why don't you go find him and go out for a, sort of, last ride of the season."

Christopher sat up, his face one of utter joy. "Do you mean it?"

Mary couldn't help but grin at him. "Of course I mean it."

"Oh thank you, Mama!" he exclaimed, jumping from the couch to kiss her cheek. "We'll be careful I promise! And we won't be back too late either!"

"I know you will. Now go on and find Nicholas."

Christopher left in a rush, leaving Mary in silence.

_10:43…10:44…10:45_

The door opened, Matthew stepping in slowly and coming to sit beside her in the quiet for a moment.

"Where is Elizabeth?" Mary asked as he took her hand firmly in his own.

"Her room, I believe. George is still in the village. Nick and Chris?"

"I told them they could go riding for a while," she could hear the optimism slipping fast from her voice.

"Good…that's good," his optimism was breaking as well. "Mary, no matter what happens, we'll be alright. Even if the walls around us crumble…everything will be alright in the end."

"Will it?" she challenged, seeking so many more words to bring comfort.

"It was last time. Things seemed so awful last time…now look at us," Matthew stated a bit shakily, eyes shining into hers. Mary could only nod in agreement when the door opened once again, Lord and Lady, arm in arm.

"Oh my darlings, I'm afraid this is too great a weight. Will the world ever meet peace?" Cora said, sitting down across from them.

Robert moved to the mantle, switching the wireless on and taking the spot beside his wife. No one had the words to answer Cora's question, mostly because they knew the answer.

They waited for endless minutes, the adverts and music on the wireless breaking the silence between them.

_10:57…10:58…10:59_

It was odd. At this moment in time, everyone was healthy, happy, and alive. The country was safe, their future set and hopeful. But in the moment after the good one, everything could change.

Chamberlain was on the wireless then, speaking clearly through the crackling wireless. The room seemed to still, all of them holding their breaths as the world moved in slow motion.

_"__This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final Note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us._

_I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."_


	2. For King and Country

**Hello again! First off, a big thanks to all of those who favorited, followed and reviewed. I honestly wasn't expecting to wake up the morning after I posted the last chapter to eleven e-mails. So thank you very much, it means a lot that people really actually like this story I've been writing all summer.**

**I believe someone asked last time if we would see any of Sybil & Tom or Edith and as they are mentioned in this chapter, I promise you will eventually see the Bransons, but I'm not too sure what I have planned for Edith yet.**

**Also, I wrote another chapter, which makes 7 chapters total. This particular chapter is Christmas themed and I would really like to have it up by then, so hopefully by Christmas you will have 7 chapters. It all depends on how rough this school year is, (my first day of senior year is tomorrow) rumor has it senior year is a breeze so we'll see.**

**Thanks again for reviewing and all that, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_4 September 1939_

To say the least, the house was dismal. No one knew exactly what to do. Besides trying to comfort one another and pay close attention to the wireless and newspapers, there was nothing to be done. The country was at war yet again and who knew what was to come. No one knew who in this house would be alive when it was said and done. Only God himself knew their fates. Only God himself knew the fate of the entire population.

There was a difference in the air. It was dense and thick with prospect. Chilled and dark.

They woke slowly this morning, rustling little and watching the outside sky with little optimism of the world ahead. They both knew what war could do. But this time it was bigger, surely more violent – it already was with all of Germany's ruthless invasions. Mary felt his hand brush hers under the sheets, sending a chill through her entire body.

She bit her lip before speaking, beginning quietly. "Do you think…maybe they won't call up any younger than twenty?"

Matthew glanced to the side of her throat as she spoke, contemplating. "We can only hope. You mustn't ponder that now. Right now we have to worry about keeping all four of them safe, and the rest of the family as well. Have you spoken to Sybil or Edith yet?"

Mary sighed, watching the ceiling. "Mama spoke to Edith yesterday. She and Michael are planning to go to America for a while to stay in grandmamma's old house, which I don't see any solution in that, it's the same over there as it is here. And with three children it will be even harder…I telephoned Sybil last night. She said Tom isn't that worried, Ireland isn't a point of interest for the Germans. She also invited us up to Dublin if things get bad enough. But I don't know how well it would fit with six children and six adults in their house."

He was sitting up now, worry written in every fiber of his being, arms crossed and brow furrowed. They sat in silence a long moment before Matthew decided it was time to begin the day. He pressed a kiss to her temple and made his way for the door.

"Matthew," she called, stopping him in his tracks. "If it did come to the point where men of the age of eighteen were called up…would you allow him?"

The terror in her tone made Matthew grimace. He came to kneel before her bedside, taking her hand in his own. "My darling…I can promise you that throughout this war, I will do everything I can to protect you and our family. But if this country requires eighteen year old men to join the British Army, you must know I can do nothing about it. I can promise to do everything in my power to keep everyone under this roof safe but I cannot guarantee anything. As I said yesterday, when everything is said and done it will be alright, eventually. No matter what happens…it will be alright in the end," he made an attempt to smile but it came out as a watery frown, making her laugh briefly.

Mary stroked his cheek with her thumb, eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't know what's going to happen, Matthew, but I am so very glad I have you to go through it with."

Now he grinned, agreeing with a kiss.

* * *

They eventually all found themselves sat in the library, trying to carry out mundane tasks but all listening to the crackling words being echoed throughout the room whether or not they wanted to. Isobel sat next to Elizabeth on the settee after being invited up by Robert and Cora – feeling they shouldn't leave her on her own at this time. George sat on the floor next to Nick, Christopher lying behind the couch. Matthew couldn't quite wrap his head around it all; listening to the Prime Minister yesterday had made him wonder what others were doing. Not family or friends, just the average person with a family to take care of like he did. What would happen to that stranger he saw on the street and would most likely never see again? Would they make it through these troubling times? Even now though, as everything was tumbling and worry and fear was all that they had, with Mary next to him and his children surrounding him, he couldn't help the utter pride he felt. He was proud to be her husband. Proud to be their father. Proud to be the leader and proud to be looked at for guidance and protection.

Being in the last war had made Matthew an even kinder, braver, gentler person, rather than a frightened and angry one as it did to most that were in the trenches with him. In the trenches he had been the Captain; the leader and guide. Men had relied on him to get them out of the place they were and back home to their loved ones. Learning to care for more than just himself made him an even better father. He learned so much about compassion and loyalty and faith while in war that when he came back to reality, Matthew was better at fatherhood than he ever expected for himself. He was able to be patient with a crying child for hours; able to handle every question they ever had; able to juggle four children, running an estate, and practicing law. Easily understood, Mary was fascinated at his abilities with their children. He wasn't like most Englishman. As much as she loved her Papa, he was never as nurturing and loving with her and her sisters as Matthew was with all four of them. Matthew would lie on his stomach on the floor for hours at a time to play trains or cars with his sons. Crawl around on his hands and knees with Elizabeth on his back, forgetting all dignity, acting as a horse just to delight her.

Mary could remember the absolute joy he filled with when he first saw George. Particularly recalling him saying he felt as though he had swallowed a box of firecrackers. The bliss that had overwhelmed him was one that he would never forget, one of the happiest moments of his life. It was a well-deserved happiness after everything Matthew had been through with them and Lavinia and the war and his legs.

Matthew loved those months that is was just them, their little family of three. He glanced over to George now as he was intensely staring at the chess board in front of him, planning his next move against Nicholas. He knew what George wanted. He could read it all over his face the first moment he saw him after war had been declared. And he understood - he didn't approve - but he understood. He knew that George wanted to enlist. He was young and strong and smart and would make a very valuable soldier, but for these same reasons Matthew couldn't bear the thought of his son at war. Matthew knew what war consisted of. George was young and strong and smart and so precious to _them_. Watching him with his younger brother, or reading a book, eating dinner, laughing with his siblings; Matthew couldn't imagine his son on a battlefield, murdering or being murdered.

After dinner, when they'd all found themselves rotting in the library once more, George requested his father's presence in the corridor. His frame was tense and ready. He knew what he had to say, he'd practiced it dozens of times in his head. Matthew knew what he had to say as well, of course. This was his son; he always knew what he wanted.

"Papa," George began firmly, hands curling at his sides. "You probably already know what I'm going to say. And in my opinion it is a big thing to say and a rather important one as well. You must hear me out and understand where I'm coming from. Please do not reject my wishes at once."

Matthew waited with baited breath. His mind swirling and jaw tightened. Even though he knew what was about to leave his sons lips, it was a barrier Matthew never expected his children to have to cross. This one declaration would change everything and there was no going back from it.

"Papa, I want to enlist in the army."

There it was.

George didn't know if perhaps he should elaborate or not, keeping his lips pursed and hands clenched. Matthew took a long moment before responding, parting his lips to do so but being interrupted by the library door opening and closing.

George's heart lurched as his mother gave them a smile. "What's going on?" she asked, motherly instinct telling her immediately that something was off. Father and son remained silent, George turning back to his father. Matthew raised his eyebrows in expectation and nodded to his mother.

"You tell her."

It was Mary's turn for her heart to lurch and mind to swirl. She watched as her eldest turned to face her completely, guilt and fear now lining his every feature.

George took one look at his mother's concerned expression and was burdened with a knot as heavy as lead in the pit of his stomach. This was the woman who nurtured and cared for him as long as he could remember. She was the sole reason he couldn't even recall the name of the nanny who was meant to care for him and his siblings. The last thing he wanted to do in this world was break her heart, but this was something he so strongly believed in, therefore he tried ever so hard not to resemble the boy his mother related him with.

"Mama," he spoke softer now, rather than the harder of talking to his father. "I want to enlist in the British Army."

Mary's eyes widened her expression of pure shock. She knew she should've been expecting it but nothing could have prepared her for the revelation George had forced upon her.

"What? No!" she immediately responded. George began to protest but she didn't let him. "No, George, no! I absolutely forbid it!"

"Mama, please. Just listen-"

"I don't have to! You've just turned eighteen, they've no need for eighteen year olds!" Mary looked to Matthew in her frazzled state. "Tell him, Matthew!" she pleaded.

Like before, Matthew opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the library door opening. Only this time the rest of his family poured out, leaving him to sigh. He didn't wish to cause a family dispute.

"What's the matter?" Robert spoke first out of the library, followed by Cora, Isobel and the children.

Matthew decided to speak for George this time, letting him off after throwing him to his mother.

"George wants to enlist," he said with monotone. Every eye that had come from the library was now fixed on George.

"Dear god, my boy, why on earth would you want to do that?" Robert questioned, eyes boring into his grandson's.

"To serve my country, Grandfather. I thought you most of all would understand," George answered, sounding hurt.

Robert seemed taken aback by this, unaware that his opinion meant so much to the young man. "I do understand the want to serve, but you've only just turned eighteen and the army has only required twenty to twenty-three year olds so far."

"I know that, really, and I understand. But do you really think Britain will be able to defeat Germany with a few hundred-thousand men? Britain has one of the smallest armies among those fighting and someone has to step up to help for god's sake!" Everyone was quite startled to see George raise his voice; he had always been a very respectful boy growing up, never stepping a toe out of line. Never throwing fits or temper tantrums like other children they would pass in the street or occasionally one of his siblings. Immediately he realized he was in the wrong and frowned, disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry…but I'm just trying to make you all understand. This is so very important. I want to serve and I want to be an example to fellow men my age and I want you all to be proud of me, that's all." His glanced at Nick then lowered his head in defeat.

Matthew laid a hand on George's shoulder, the firm grip calming and angering him all the same. "Son, we are proud of you. In my opinion, you're one of the bravest men for wanting to do something that most would not. And I couldn't be any prouder. I only ask you to wait, until they really do require men your age. I can't deny I won't try and stop you even then, but all the same, please wait."

George pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, glaring at the floor. "Papa, I'm not needed here! Why waste my time somewhere I'm not needed rather than somewhere I actually would be useful? Shadowing you and grandpapa in the running of the estate is all fine but when it comes down to it, if I don't choose to go there might not even be an Abbey to run. For all we know it could be taken over by Hitler and his Nazi soldiers!" His blood was pumping now, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he should never speak this way to his family, let alone in front of his brothers and sister, but George couldn't find the will to stop. He'd known he would have to make this argument, although he wished it could've been with only his parents.

Everyone was in a stunned silence for a while before Robert took control of his grandson's tongue, speaking firm and low. "Now listen here, George. I will _not _have that type of talk in this house. I don't care what you believe is right or wrong, I don't care that you want to go to war or not…what I do care is that you show your _respect_ to this house and this family by not insinuating that that foul leader and his army will be over taking it anytime soon," he finished with his eyes boring into George's, the low hum of his voice creating an eerie quiet over the group.

George knew he should bite his tongue. He tried so hard to keep it only a thought but it was what he believed might strike his grandfather and allow him to see reason.

"Grandpapa, you must understand that I mean no disrespect by saying these things. But that foul leader is real…and he is coming, and when the day comes that you find my father, my brothers and I on the front lawn with rifles, trying to defend your land…I hope you will reconsider," George's voice was smooth, bold with a new found confidence he didn't know he had. Before anyone could break the even more stunned silence, he found himself hurrying up the stairs and down the hall, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.

* * *

He'd been sitting on this sofa for nearly fifteen minutes, staring at his feet whilst in the deepest thought.

"Robert," Cora's voice broke the easy quiet from where she sat on the bed, book in hand. He broke from his stupor, glancing up to her. "You must stop your worrying and come to bed."

If only it was that simple, he thought.

Despite the torment he was going through, Robert padded over to his side of the bed. "Is he right? Can one eighteen year old soldier do so much that would prevent invasion from Germany?" he pondered, crawling into bed, not even a hint of tiredness in his brain.

"He might…he would make a very good soldier, you know. And don't think me for his enlisting, because I am not. But it seems that he will be unpersuaded no matter what anyone says. George is a very headstrong, stubborn young man, Robert. You forget who his mother is."

Robert snorted, thinking on this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose. I only hope someone can get through to him."

Cora smiled, glad that he cared so much for his grandson. "You mustn't be angry with him for his words this evening. It is obviously something he believes so strongly in that he would go against everyone and seem disrespectful. He's always been so kind and caring," she said fondly.

"Yes…that's what I'm afraid of," he replied skeptically and turned over to shut off the lamp, enveloping his side of the room in darkness. Cora couldn't understand what he could have possibly meant by this but thought it best not to press the subject further. It had been a long day. Everything would look better in the morning.

* * *

Was that a knock on the door or had he dreamt it?

"George? It's me," came the faintest of whispers from outside his door.

He tried so hard not to be angry with his little brother, but when he had just fallen asleep it was quite the challenge.

George cracked open the door to meet Nicholas' face illuminated by the moon shining through the windows.

"What do you want, Nick? It's late," he asked sleepily. Nicholas looked to the floor then back up at him.

"I keep thinking about what you said earlier…about Hitler and the Nazi's," Nick's soft voice met his ears and shattered his heart, it was only now that George saw the real fear in his brother's eyes. His father was always saying that words were the most powerful weapon, only now he believed him.

He signaled for Nicholas to enter the room and followed behind him as he sat on the bed while George turned on the bedside lamp, sitting next to his brother.

"I was wrong for saying those things. I was being daft and only thinking of my own wants. You shouldn't worry about anything that came out of my mouth," he spoke softly to his brother, earning a nod in return.

"So…I shouldn't worry about you going to war? Because I know you really want to."

More guilt surfaced in George, realizing how much his words could affect someone. "No, you shouldn't. I know the thought of me going to war is frightening, but you shouldn't be afraid of it. I'm not even sure I'll be going, but if I do you must remember that you will be safe because of me. You and mama and papa and everyone in this big house will be safe because of my absence. Alright?"

Nick nodded once more, George's words lifting the anxiety from his shoulders. "One more thing that I know you won't be keen on..."

George sat in anticipation; no one could ever be sure of what might come from Nicholas' mouth. Since the first day he could speak Nick had been rattling off the most daring, yet intelligent things.

"Might you wait to go to war? I know it would mean a lot to mama and papa and everyone else. I know they do love you very much. Please, George, for all of us?" his brother half-begged, peering up at him with the same blue eyes as he found in the mirror.

George couldn't help but grin, shaking his head at the fact that no one else in his family could have put it so simply and easily as Nick could – the thought of love not yet embarrassing to him as it was to most English. But George found his words true. His family did love and care for him deeply. Of course they didn't want him to go off to war sooner than necessary for the fear of him being injured or killed before his time.

"You're very good at persuading. Maybe you should become a solicitor like Papa." His comment went with Nick's smile. "I will wait. I promise."

His brother was attempting to suppress a toothy-grin now, focusing on the floor.

"Now get out, you twit. It's almost one in the morning," George playfully shoved his brother to his feet.

Nicholas left without another word, shutting the door and moving down the hall back to his room.

* * *

After his brother's midnight persuasion, George woke up with a mighty lump in his throat. This lump he assumed was the pride he had to swallow and apologize to his parents and grandparents, admit that he was in the wrong – even though he didn't feel like he was.

He slid out of bed slowly, his feet like lead. Soon he found himself outside the dining room door, knuckles white on the handle as he turned it unhurriedly. When he entered, George found his father, grandfather and brothers sat at the table eating their breakfast. They looked up at his arrival, saying nothing.

"I would like to apologize for my actions last night. I want to apologize specifically to you, grandfather. My words were not gentlemanly and I was out of line and I'm sorry, truly. I hope you can all forgive me," he said into the silent room.

Matthew and Robert exchanged a glance before Matthew spoke, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Of course we do, George. As out of line as you may have been, we do understand your reasoning. Thank you for your apology." George's shoulders relaxed, breathing out as the lump was finally swallowed. "There is something else," he began, locking eyes with Nick and his knowing grin. "After a bit of persuasion…I've decided not to enlist until my age bracket is called up."

Everyone mirrored Nicholas's grin now, happy for his safety just a bit longer.

"That is very good news," Robert said happily. "Isn't it Matthew?"

"Well, I must admit I am relieved," Matthew replied. "Thank you for making this decision." George nodded, starting for the table to sit down, only to be stopped by his father's voice once more. "But! You must go and apologize to your mother, George. She was very hurt by your words and very worried about your decision."

More guilt struck George, his heart aching at the thought of his mother worry-stricken over him. "You're right, I should. I'll go now."

He immediately left the dining room, jogging up the stairs and down the few hallways to his parents' room. His wraps on the door were cut short by its opening, revealing Anna, who quickly smiled at him and greeted him good morning.

"Are you looking for your mother?" Anna asked politely. He smiled and nodded, gracious that she didn't treat him any differently even though he was sure she'd heard of his outburst. Perhaps she knew exactly where he received the trait of stubbornness from. "She's just dressed, you can go in," she said gently, sidestepping him into the hallway. George thanked her and entered the large bedroom, noting the portraits on the dresser of him and his brothers, one of his sister, one of them all and his parents' wedding photo.

"George, what is it darling?" came Mary's voice from the corner of the room as she stood in front of the mirror. She turned and came towards him, her face much more concerned than the last time he saw it.

"I came to apologize, Mama. I realize the things I said were very awful to say, and I'm so sorry I even said them. I didn't realize the effect of my words while I was speaking them. You and Papa are good to us and I acted ungrateful and disrespectful. I hurt you and I apologize," he finished, looking at her like when he was little, pleading for a sweet.

Mary gave him a small smile, meeting him in the middle of the room. "Thank you…I do accept your apology. You forget that I am your mother and that your mother has said some very hurtful, spiteful things to people in the past," she chuckled at herself, placing a hand to his shoulder. "I am very proud of you, George. You could do nothing to make me love you less."

George smiled. "You'll be pleased to know that I've decided to wait to enlist."

Mary was now wide-eyed, dropping her hand. "What?"

"I've decided against going early. I'm going to wait until I absolutely have to," he replied, immediately being met with her placing a hand to her mouth. She stayed like that for a short moment before picking her head back up again, tears in her eyes. She laughed at herself, smiling now. "I'm sorry. I'm just very relieved."

"So was Papa…You have Nicholas to thank though."

"Nicholas?"

"Yes. He came into my room last night and somehow convinced me into staying," he stated, shaking his head at his brother. Mary made a mental note to hug her youngest when she saw him, he was so terribly clever. "I should probably get back down before they wrap up breakfast."

"Of course, of course. Go on then. And George," she called as he stopped at the door and swung around. "If you do go to war…I will still love you all the same."

George nodded his thanks and closed the door behind him.


	3. Uneven Odds

**Hello again! Not even gonna lie, I'm so freaking sick. But I had planned to upload another chapter this weekend so with a fever, hack and runny nose, I pulled myself together and sat down to edit and upload this. **

**Thanks for all your reviews and that good stuff, be sure to tell me what you think, and yeah. I'm gonna go to sleep.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_17 March 1940_

Since the declaration of war the whole country seemed to grow dim and quiet. The usual chipper faces you passed in the streets turned solemn. It seemed all anyone was doing was waiting on the edge of their seats when the radio was on and dreading the morning papers for any bad news that might have broken overnight. Other than the constant nerves, they continued life as normally as possible. They all helped the country in every way they could. Charities and concerts and volunteering at the hospital took them through the first few months, but no matter what they did to help, everyone felt useless in comparison to the men giving their lives. George especially.

In October the government announced that all men 18 to 41 who did not have an occupation could be called up if required. In his eyes this was his call to go. He promised he would wait and for six months he'd stood by, watching some of his friends and many boys from the village go off to war while he stayed behind, waiting. Unable to take the bite on his tongue any longer, George could see no other option but to approach his father once more.

The hall was quiet, the crisp morning air rushing through the cracks of the house. He gripped the doorknob for a long moment before entering the library with steady hands and even breaths - quite different from the last time he faced his father with the burden of war on his shoulders. His father was different this time as well; unable to ignore the signs of the rope that held what peace they had left was sure to snap. Matthew knew everything that was happening between the countries just across the Channel would sooner or later happen here. German forces were more threatening than ever, maintaining entire counties under Hitler's terror and bombing those who refused. Though without question, more involvement from England was taking place. Their country would not be another prisoner of war for their enemies to keep as prize.

Taking one look at his son's solid gaze, Matthew sighed. Pausing to look at the ground, then back towards him straight on as one clear word echoed from his mouth and throughout the entire room, "Alright."

George remained in a stunned silence for a moment, expecting anything but what he just heard.

Matthew stood from his spot at the desk, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "I've tried to avoid this as long as possible. But frankly, I don't think we can anymore. You and I both know what has been going on overseas these past months and you and I both know it won't be ending anytime soon. It's only getting worse and it's only getting closer. I've tried telling myself you were too young, that you weren't ready, that somehow you were needed here…but then I realized none of that is true." George's ears perked up, hopeful at his father's words. "You are very ready, and you will make an excellent soldier, George. But it will be hard, not only for us but for you. You will want to run, you will have times where you want to die, you'll want to quit everything and come home…but you mustn't. And when you want to do all those things you carry on and fight until there's no fight left in you, understand?" Matthew spoke strictly, making sure George listened very closely so that he knew exactly what was in store for him.

"Yes, sir," he answered, nodding.

"Good…you have my permission to go into town tomorrow, just give me enough time to tell your mother and you can tell everyone else at dinner."

George couldn't quite explain the feeling in his chest but he grinned all the same. "Thank you, papa," he exclaimed, shaking his father's hand. Matthew smiling a brief second despite himself, gripping his son's hand in his far more experienced one. He frowned then, remembering exactly what they were celebrating.

Unlike his son, Matthew couldn't help his nerves as he waited outside the drawing room where on the other side of the door Mary and the rest of the ladies were having their afternoon tea. As he waited, Matthew prepared his words. He knew she would immediately blame him - and he was partly and would accept his role in this fully, but still had to try and make her understand.

Lost in thought, Matthew was startled when the door in question opened and the one he was looking for crossed the threshold, smiling when she saw him. "Hello," she began, coming to kiss him on the cheek. "What are you doing here? I thought you were writing letters."

Matthew glanced over her shoulder at his daughter and mother-in-law, smiling briefly at them. "I just got a bit sidetracked. Might I speak to you in private?"

Mary's face fell, mind flying to the worst possibilities. "Of course. They'll be clearing that room, we should go upstairs."

They made their way to their bedroom in silence, closing the door with a quiet click. Matthew turned around, meeting her worried gaze.

"Please tell me the words I think you may say aren't the ones you really are," she said, demeanor falling fast.

Matthew took a long while, watching the floor beneath her shoes. "I can't make him stay here any longer," was all he said.

"Oh, Matthew how could you?" Mary asked, hurt in her words.

"Please try to understand, darling. He feels worthless here, this is something to help him feel like a part of something. He feels like a coward, watching all the local boys go off and fight while he stays here and does what?…volunteer at the hospital once or twice a week? It's not his place, Mary."

"Not his place?! And where is his place Matthew? On a battlefield being shot and killed?" she cried, turning away from him and towards the bed.

"He's not old enough to be sent to any battlefields! War could be over by the time he's even met the age qualifications! And even if war doesn't end and he is sent overseas, he will be of good use, can't you see!? He _wants_ to do this," Matthew stressed, staring at the side of her face. "Mary, I'm not guaranteeing his safety – of course I can't do that – but I know that if I was in his position, and if you remember quite clearly, I was, I would do the same thing he is…and I would want the support of my entire family, including my mother."

She whipped around at his words, jaw-dropped and visibly hurt. "Did your mother have such an easy time letting you go off to war? Her only son; the only family she had?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then don't expect me to give up my eldest son in just a few days, Matthew! I'm trying, honestly, I am. But I don't know how you can expect me to come to terms with the fact that my son whom I raised and care for is going to war and could very well not come back."

Her words struck him, angering and filling with guilt. Matthew scoffed, gaping at her. "Do you honestly think I don't understand how you feel? Have you forgotten that he is my son as well? That I raised him and care for him just as much as you? Don't act as though you're the only one who is having trouble accepting the very real possibilities. You didn't have to look him in the face and give him permission to go and face what is shaping to be the worst war the world has ever seen. I know war, yes, but what I went through will be nothing compared to what he will experience. It is so much worse this time. Awful things happening to innocent people, deadlier and more destructive weapons than there ever were when I fought. Do you think it easy for me to allow our son to go into that?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, their heated glares reflecting off the others. Matthew dropped his first, wiping his hand over his face in frustration.

"I don't want to argue with you…and I know you're trying, really I do. I know you're scared, and so am I. I'm so scared," he breathed, a large lump forming in his throat. Mary's defenses fell, taking in his trembling appearance as she hesitantly made her way across the room, standing before him and playing with the lapels of his overcoat. Matthew lifted his eyes to meet hers once more. She said nothing but rested her head on his shoulder and breathed him in, wrapping both arms around him, fingers dancing on his spine. He smirked, holding her tightly to his chest. "I do love you so very much," he murmured. "I told you I would do everything I could to keep everyone safe, and I have. I can't do anything more, it's all in God's hands now."

"I know," she whispered, pulling back to meet his face. "All we can do now is hope and pray," she said dismally.

Matthew chuckled, feeling the pads of her fingers brushing his neck. "You act as though that is nothing. When did you become a woman of such little faith?"

"You know me, darling, I don't believe until I see. I am a doubter at best."

He grinned now, lips grazing her forehead. "It's alright. I have enough faith for the both of us," he hummed against her skin.

She smiled softly, gazing towards the floor. "I must say, that is reassuring."

* * *

Much to his family's dismay and his mother's prayers for a small tick that just might prevent him from leaving, George's enlisting process was quickly over. He found the day to have gone smoother than he'd expected it to. The church only held a small line of five to ten young men of Downton, most of those whom could volunteer having done so already. Now it was mostly those who had just turned eighteen, queuing in line for the simple task of filling out pages of paperwork. After the hour he spent answering every question from his birthday to the health of his ancestors, a sergeant directed him across the street to the hospital, where he waited outside a door that was already lined with a few others. After all the indignities that came with getting a physical, George was dismissed with the promise of his letter arriving in a few weeks. He knew how he must look – a future Earl of Grantham, volunteering when he is not required. How heroic he must look, so young and willing to die for his country when he could hide in his big house and not be questioned. This brought color to his cheeks as he walked out into the chilled air.

Settling back into the car, George watched as more young men crossed the street in front of him – all fit with eager faces and heading towards the church. The car lurched forward as he recognized a few of them, recalling an aggressive cricket match a few years ago when he was nine. George stared at their backs until they were out of sight, turning solemn as the pixelated memory of being punched in the nose flashed in his mind. He remembered his grandfather jogging across the street and shouting at the small crowd of boys he'd allowed him to play with whilst he ran errands. Blood had been dripping down his face, staining his new tie and overcoat. George remembered fear then. Fear of his mother's anger at the ruin of his new clothes. Much to his surprise, when he arrived home he'd only received concern and worry from his mother. It was one of the first times he remembered the compassion she solely reserved for him and his brothers and sister.

George smirked as his eyes snapped from their glazed over state and focused on the passing trees and cottages. Turning solemn, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the boy who punched him. What was the probability that he would live and the boy who broke his nose would not? What were the odds for every face he met today? Who would return and who would be remembered?

He chose to ignore the knot in his stomach as the probability of his return stared him in the face. The fact was: he could die. There was a fifty percent chance he would never see this town and his home and his family again, that he would die before he really got to live. There was a fifty percent chance he would come back and live his life until he was an old man, telling his war stories to his grandchildren and dying from the simplicity of old age. The odds were even. His future was set. No going back now.

* * *

_21 April 1940_

This damn knot – the same cursed knot that had been following him around the past seven months – would not cease. Normally, it went away within a few minutes of him taking a moment to collect his thoughts and calming breaths. But this time the knot had not disappeared, keeping him awake all night to toss and turn between the sheets, causing him to pace the room in the hopes of tiring himself out. Without luck, George eventually fell asleep out of pure exhaustion for what seemed like ten minutes. Before he knew it he was being woken and the knot was back, torturing him to no ends.

George rose with ease as his mind had been preparing for this day for weeks. He double-checked the small rucksack at the foot of his bed - packed with enough clothes for weeks' time and all other essentials that had been listed on his letter from the Officer-in-Charge of the Royal Army Recruiting Center.

The knot followed him down to breakfast, where his entire family was already there eating casually. George frowned as he looked down at the eggs and toast on his plate. Despite his family's and his own efforts, he couldn't stomach more than a few bites before retiring once more upstairs.

His heart raced as he watched the clock inching closer to the time of his departure. He checked his rucksack one last time then hoisted it easily over his shoulder. Digging in his jacket, George found the pocket watch his father had given him a few days ago as a reminder of home, checking the ticking clock for the thousandth time today.

Five minutes until he was to report downstairs to be taken to the train station.

His hands were steady now, breathing even and heart regular. With a new found strength, George decided it time to go. Shrugging the rucksack back over his shoulder, he sighed, hoping that he would live to see this house again, sleep in his bed again, have dinner with his family, ride with his brothers just one more time.

Leaving his room behind, George began his sentiments down the hallway, passing his brothers' rooms and immersing at the top of the stairs. He brushed the banister with his fingers, examining all the tapestries he'd never noticed before and the arches that rose into the ceiling. How many times had he run up and down these corridors? How many times had he slid down the banister when no one was around? All his life had been lived in these four walls, and, with God's grace, so would his future.

George was met by his entire family as well as the whole of the staff. Tears threatened in his eyes as he was met with their proud and gentle faces all lined outside the entryway.

The chauffeur stepped forward in order to take his bag and put it in the car while George stepped just outside the door to meet his grandmother. He smiled the cheesy smile he'd been giving her since all his teeth had come in. She grinned in return, hugging him tightly. "Good luck, George. You go and be brave…but not too brave, understand?" she said apprehensively while pulling back.

George nodded, his smile turning downwards slightly. "I won't granny, I promise."

"Good lad," Isobel replied, releasing him as he stepped away to meet both grandparents. He couldn't help but be comforted at the sight of them, both strong and powerful as ever while the world grew to shambles.

"George," his grandfather began, holding out his hand. He took his grandfather's aged hand in his own, smiling as the memory of this man shouting at the village boy who had punched him. "You'll do well, my boy. There's no doubt about that."

"Thank you," he answered, releasing his hand. "Thank you for everything, grandfather."

In true Englishmen form, Robert embarrassed at this, but smiled despite himself. This was the little boy he'd been so happy to welcome into the world eighteen years ago. He was able to recall many days of caring for him as a baby when no one else was around, showing him the entire estate grounds and laughing at the awe on his face at truly how large their home was. His throat clenched as George moved on, words he wanted to say but never would dying on his tongue.

Cora smiled at her dearest grandchild. Of all nine of her precious grandchildren, she could - without any doubt - say that George had the kindest, most gentle spirit. His compassionate nature shone through the care of his younger siblings, teaching them valuable lessons and looking out on their behalf purely for their own benefit.

Now, she kissed him on the cheek and embraced him a long moment without a word spoken, simply because there were none. "Goodbye, darling," she whispered with tears in her eyes.

George mentally cursed, seeing his loved ones with tears, knowing it was all for him did nothing besides cause a lump in his own throat. "Goodbye, grandmamma," he replied, forcing the lump down.

He met his father now, nearly falling to pieces at the sight of the kindest, bravest man he'd ever known. All his life he'd grown up with people telling him how much he resembled his father, and most of the time he'd hated the attention their resemblance attracted; but as he grew up to the person he was now, George became less concerned with the similarities in the way they looked and more concerned in his actions to be more like the all around good person that his father was.

His hand met his own, both gripping tightly to one another before breaking all things proper and embracing for a quiet moment. Matthew pulled back as they composed themselves once more. "Remember everything I told you, alright?"

George nodded, squinting in the morning light. "Yes, papa, I'll remember."

"Good…good." Matthew couldn't quite explain the things going on inside of him; guilt and anger and worry and fear. For God's sake this was his son - the first of his children he had ever held and learned to care for, the first he taught everything he could and the first he would some days sneak away from the nanny just because he wanted to spend time with the giggling little boy. With great struggle Matthew realized George was no longer a little boy but a young man, and he couldn't be prouder than he already was of the fantastic man he was shaping up to be. "Just…be careful, please," he requested, his legs tingling with in faint memory.

"I will, papa," George confirmed, relieving some weight from his father's shoulders, no matter how small the promise may be. How careful could you be in war when trying to be brave at the same time?

He could feel his hands beginning to shake once more as he turned to his mother. The lump was the most prominent it had been so far, looking at his dear mother, her eyes brimmed with tears yet composure of such strength. She gave him a watery smile then wrapped both arms around him. George squeezed his eyes shut at the utter safety he felt in his mother's arms. No one could ever make him feel as protected as she could. He'd always been told that as a baby when crying and unable to be calmed by any nanny, she was the only person who could. They would simply hand him to her and he would quiet almost immediately. Now, he got the feeling this was one of those times, only this time he cried because he was leaving that safety which he depended on for eighteen years. Now he was going away to places that that safety would never be, and he was terrified because of it.

"We love you very much," Mary said, all the while holding him closer before finally letting him go for good. She straightened the material of his jacket along his shoulders, tears falling now. "We'll be right here waiting for you when you come back." She attempted a smile once more, gazing into the eyes that of his father, inflicting the long lost memory of sending Matthew off to war after leave, Lavinia next to her. How very much she wished she could go back in time and tell herself what she knew now. Never did she want to go through the same pain and fear that having someone you loved at war brought. But this was something she could not control. Oh how she wished it could all be over, that she might know whether or not everything would be alright. But until they knew what the future held, Mary could do nothing but watch as he moved away from her and onto his brother.

Christopher briefly kicked the pebbles under his feet, head towards the ground whilst George stepped in front of him. He squinted at him, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it. "Don't do anything stupid," Christopher said, causing them both to grin.

"I'll try not to," George replied with an amused chuckle.

"If the war lasts long enough, I could be joining you in a couple years," he played. George felt tension from the eyes of his family, and was a bit disappointed he wouldn't be present to see the lecture it would ensue.

"Yeah, you could," he breathed; the thought of another member of his family at risk causing his pulse to race.

"Don't waste it all away though. Try to at least learn something in school," George teased, patting Christopher's shoulder. He nodded to his older brother, staying in place while he moved on.

George frowned as he continued to his sister, briefly grinning as all his memories of terrorizing her when they were little flooding back. "I got you this," Elizabeth hesitated, holding out a novel. George accepted the book from her, smiling as he scanned the cover. "It's quite a new novel…You may relate to it," she said with a knowing smile.

"With a title like "The Corinthian" I'm sure I will," he replied, smirking. "Thank you. Goodbye, Elizabeth," George bid, hugging her as well.

"Bye, George," she whispered before releasing him.

He forced a smile as he moved to Nicholas, immediately seeing the strain on Nick's face as his little brother struggled to be brave. "Blimey Nick, you're nearly as tall as me," George stated, smiling down at him. Nicholas attempted to smile, coming out more of a grimace than much else. They remained in silence a moment before his barriers broke and Nick threw himself into his brother's arms, tears flowing freely down his face as his fingers dug into George's overcoat. He stood stunned for a moment then hugged him back, equally as hard.

"Promise me you'll write!" he sobbed, muffled in George's chest.

Verging on tears himself, George rubbed Nick's back affectionately. "I promise I'll write. I'll write as much as I can." Nicholas calmed at his words, pulling back to wipe his face on his sleeve, attempting to hide his embarrassment. George squeezed Nick's shoulders, smiling down at the innocent boy. "I'll see you soon."

Nicholas shook his head, silently agreeing and sniffling.

Nicholas being the last person in line, George's heart sunk a moment as he realized it truly time to go. He turned towards the house and drank it in; smiling at the small crowd of people with the subtle feeling they'd all meet again. With this sensation, he took one last look at his family and climbed in the car, almost immediately joined by the chauffeur. He smiled once more at the book in his hands, fingering the cover a minute before opening his rucksack and sliding it safely between his clothes.

The car jolted through the gravel under its path, leaving a puff of dust in its wake to float through the early morning air. All but Matthew and Mary began to disperse then, staying put and watching the car move away from them with the feeling of emptiness looming over.

Matthew said nothing as he took her hand in his own, finding some comfort in his wife's delicate touch. Mary nearly pulled away out of the sorrow in her own heart, only remembering Matthew's words and deciding to trust them and believe that no matter what happened they would all be alright.

"It will be alright," she whispered.

Matthew looked over at her now, admiring the image of her with eyes still fixed on the horizon and an expression of determination etched into her features. With this as well as the car that moved seemingly in slow motion down the drive, he felt inevitable pride fill him head-to-toe.

"Yes…it will be."


	4. Bloom

**New chapter here as I have a four day weekend and figured I should update. A special one I think as the intro of a few new characters come about.**

**Also, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna start naming chapters after songs (if that's not too cliche) that are relative to the chapter and have some lyrics that express it in one way or another. So if you care, this chapter is 'Bloom' by The Paper Kites.**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review and all that other stuff. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_11 July 1940_

The raps on the basement door grew more and more agitated with each passing minute that its producer was left standing outside in the sweltering heat. Just when the deliverer had given up, the door finally opened to reveal Anna looking particularly rushed and disheveled.

"Yes?" she questioned.

"Letter," the postal boy simply stated, holding out the thin, white envelope to her.

Anna took it from the sweating boy without question, gave her thanks and shut the door behind her. A brief glance at the front of the post told her there was no return address, which also alerted her to how important this small parcel was.

Before she could stop herself, Anna was jogging down the hall, coming to a halt only when she nearly tackled the person she'd been looking for.

"Mr. Clark!"

"Anna, what on earth is the matter?" he replied heavily, straightening himself from the fright she'd given.

Anna simply held out the letter to him, smiling knowingly. "An important letter I think you'll want to go give to the family at once."

Mr. Clark glanced to the writing on the post and agreed. "You're quite right, Anna. I'll go and deliver this right now."

Clark turned on his heel, hurrying out the door and nearly jogging around the house until he was within eye-shot of the crowd all dressed in white on the lawn. Halfway he realized he'd left the tray and letter opener behind but decided to sod it – this letter was more important than formalities.

Clark kept his eyes focused on the recipient of the parcel until he stood right before them, waiting a moment as they finished their conversation with a small group of people and looking at him expectantly.

"Letter for you, sir," he said smoothly, holding out the long envelope for him to take.

Matthew hardly had time to set his eyes on the scribbled address written on the front before his heart leapt and he froze, looking to Clark for conformation he didn't have. Body catching up with mind, he took the letter from the butler's hand; holding it as though it was the most prized of possessions. Matthew murmured his thanks to Clark whilst his head stretched above all the guests', locating the one person he felt he had to share with and jogging through the crowd to get to her.

"Mary!"

She turned at the sound of her husband's voice, concerned to see him hurrying towards her, though relaxing as his smiling face eased her worry.

"What is it?" she asked, unapologetic to the guests she had been speaking with.

Matthew held up the envelope with a sly smirk. As he had, Mary took one simple glance at the messy scrawl and knew exactly who it was from.

After three long months of silence from George, the promise of word from their son had them both grinning from ear-to-ear and scurrying to a private corner of one of the tents. They sat opposite each other, Matthew handing her the envelope before opening it.

"You read it," he requested.

Not bothering to consider why he asked this of her, Mary took it and pried its seal open. A single piece of parchment was pulled from the inside; front messed with George's untidy hand.

"_Dear family_," Mary began to read. "_I can only imagine mama's bitterness at me for my three months silence - and perhaps Nicholas for going back on a promise I made him. Sadly, this letter will be short as well as I only found a spare moment between lunch to write this. The only excuse I can provide is that I have been extremely busy with training. And despite the exhausting summer heat, it is going well. I am quite proud of myself and the other men for the amount of things we have managed to learn in such a short amount of time. I'm sure that when the time comes we will all serve our country well. _

_With the twelve weeks of training almost over the last one has been rumoured to be the worst. We will be pushed to our limits and truly tested of our abilities that would be needed when in combat. Yet, in the difficulty of the final week the Colonel has promised a week's leave beginning on the 14__th__. I do hope this letter reaches you in time of my arrival as I wouldn't want to be a bother for the servants. Regardless of this, I long to be home and see you all again._

_My train will be departing at 10 o'clock and I will arrive around noon. Although, I suppose if you don't get this letter in time I'll have no other choice but to walk home and give you a surprise._

_All my love,_

_George_

* * *

_14 July 1940_

Steam from the locomotive wafted over the platform, enveloping all disembarking passengers in the white transparent mist. George broke from the cloud, his rucksack hung over his shoulder as he panned around for any sign of his family or the chauffeur. He wandered further down the platform runway until he was no longer blocked from the sun by the overhang of the station. Squinting into the light, George smiled as his eyes locked with their chauffeur standing across the road by the car.

"Master George, welcome home," Peters greeted, taking the knapsack from him and opening the door.

"Thank you, it's good to be home," George answered whilst climbing in the back of the Ford.

"My apologies for not meeting you on the platform, sir, it's just that your parents didn't want me to miss you in the mess of people after an arrival, so they instructed to watch the gate," he explained after starting the car.

George couldn't help but smile. "That's quite alright, I don't mind at all. I suppose they want me back as quickly as possible, and quite frankly I want to be back as quickly as possible."

Peters looked in his rearview at the boy as he watched out the window at the passing cottages. "My son is in the army as well," he stated, focusing ahead once more.

"Really?" George answered, surprised.

"Yes, sir: Daniel. He's just a year older than you," Peters stated proudly.

"I believe I remember meeting him at home a few years ago. Do you know where he's stationed by any chance?"

Peters sighed. "Unfortunately, no. The last I heard from him he was still in the country, but as you know, they're not permitted to discuss it."

"Yes, it does make it tricky when writing letters," George joked. "I hope he's well. I'll keep him in my prayers. Who knows, I may meet him again soon. You never know who you'll come across on the front."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that," Peters replied before they settled into silence as George became more and more eager with the sight of familiar surroundings leading the way towards his home. Crossing through the village and passing all cottages, they soon found themselves in the lush, green countryside. George smiled when they were finally on the long, winding road between the trees. Anticipation grew because he knew soon the trees would stop and there would be the most wonderful clearing and in the middle of the hilled acres of land would stand his home.

When it finally happened and he finally saw the large house after nearly four months, George found himself bending forward into the front seat for a better view at the approaching castle. Near the end of the road, his eyes flickered to the grand front entrance and more importantly, his family all standing in line right front of it; like he'd never left.

George sat back, smoothing out his jacket and straightening his cap, his nerves suddenly resurfacing. He felt an eternity from the spot they were from the front of the house. Peters jumped out as soon as they had reached it, hurrying around to open his door. Staring at his family once more, George found his nerves replaced with overwhelming giddiness. His family mimicked his enthusiasm; receiving him into a blur of greetings and hugs and handshakes.

Making their way into the grand entrance, George found Nick once again.

"Quite honestly, I do think you have actually grown," he complimented, stopping in the middle of the room as the rest made their way past them.

Nicholas looked up at him, attempting to conceal his smirk by biting the inside of his cheek. "I'll be able to beat you up soon," he replied smugly, grinning at the look on his older brother's face.

"Alright, alright, don't push your luck," George answered, continuing their walk into the corridor. "I am sorry I broke my promise to write more often. I'll try harder when I go back, but I can't promise much. Sometimes it's difficult to get a letter even sent."

Nick nodded, attempting to accept his words. "You should probably apologize to mama as well. She's been terribly worried, even if it is just training."

George filled with guilt, smiling nevertheless. "I'll do that later. She's more forgiving than you are."

"George!"

He whipped around at his name – the instinct fully in him now; feeling a bit odd when he found his mother there and not the Corporal.

"Would you like to have a bath before tea?" she asked, having no idea how sweet the words "bath" and "tea" sounded to him.

"I would, thank you," he answered.

"Go on up, I'll have Jennings run it for you," she instructed with a smile.

George nodded, doing as told without any second thoughts, a hot bath seeming too good a luxury to pass.

Dinner that night was the pleasanter of evenings they'd all had in a while. George had never been happier to dress in formal wear and talk normally with his family again. He told them what he could about training and where he was going next and everything exciting that he could remember happening while away. He listened as they told him their stories as well and everything that had happened with all of them. All in all, they were well and happy. George, looking around at them all, couldn't help but damper his own feelings of joy with the dismal thought of if it would last or not. In a year, two years, three years' time, would it all last?

"Are the Reeds still coming for dinner on Wednesday?" George's head snapped up at the sound of his father's voice.

"Yes, and they're bringing all of the children as well," Robert replied after a sip of his wine. "We haven't seen them in ages it seems – ten years at least."

George spoke for the rest of his siblings. "Sorry, who are the Reeds?"

Cora spoke up now, smiling down the table at him. "The Reeds are your grandfather's friends from long ago. How long have you known them, dear?" she directed back to Robert.

"Since I was George's age - if I remember correctly. Mine and Louis' fathers were good friends and we would all go on hunting outings. His father died when he was seventeen and his older brother, William, inherited. Then he married Camille and moved to London – they were good friends with your great-aunt Rosamund before her passing," he explained. "They're traveling up for their daughter, Emma. She's going up to the University of Sheffield for a tour and they asked to stop in on their way."

"How lovely," Mary commented. "I suppose she's going to study medicine if she's going to Sheffield?"

"I think Louis did mention that, yes," Robert replied, his traditional ways making his face disgruntled.

George smiled. Some things never change.

George's first few days at Downton passed quickly and leisurely, focusing solely on relaxing and rejuvenating before going back to service. For now, he returned to riding with his brothers, eating as much as possible, and finally getting around to finishing the Corinthian. He sat in the library now, upside down with legs dangling over the back of the sofa. It was quiet as he turned the page, estimating the number of pages that were left and sighing when realizing there was more than he could possibly read in the next hour or so.

Truly, he was enjoying the book – Elizabeth had been right, he could relate to it. The main character, Richard, was an heir with a fortune at his feet and brides that would line up at the chance of marrying him, except for the fact he wants nothing to do with any of them due to his suspicions that every woman only desires him for his money. George couldn't say he related in every way, but it was nice to see he wasn't alone in the future when he would have to marry a suitable girl with a matchable fortune. Luckily, the war bought him time – years perhaps, before he would be introduced to multiple girls with little-to-no personality and be expected to simply marry someone he hardly knew.

George's thoughts were broken by the library door opening and Clark entering with his granny in tow. He immediately sat right side up, not feeling keen on receiving a scolding.

"Oh, hello George. I didn't expect to meet you here, I'd thought you already gone up to change," she stated, coming around to sit across from him.

George reached in his pocket for his golden watch and flipped it open, startled at the time. "You're right, granny. I better go up before the Reeds arrive. See you in a bit."

Smiling, George strolled down the stairs, feeling quite dashing in the new set of tails his grandparents had surprised him with as a welcome home present. It felt good to be back home and back to his old life – as short a time it might be - just to have some peace for a while was welcomed.

"Well don't you look swell!" His grandmother exclaimed as she noticed him descending the stairs, her words gathering the attention of the rest of his family.

"Thank you. I have you to thank of course," he answered, gesturing to both her and his grandfather.

"You're quite welcome dear. Hopefully it'll attract the attention of more than just us though," she replied with a secret smile. George froze in confusion as Cora stood straight in line once again, looking ahead with the same smirk. He took his place beside Chris – who was sniggering – and chose to bite his tongue. Had they arranged this entire evening just so he could find a potential suitor in the Reed's daughter? Did they buy him this set of tails just to impress her? Did they really expect him to fall in love with someone just over dinner and small talk?

With the urge to run upstairs and change back into his uniform, George frowned, disappointment in his grandparents if his assumptions proved true.

"Mr. and Mrs. Louis Reed, Miss. Emma Reed, Miss. Penelope Reed, and Mr. Michael Reed," Clark announced as all those attached to the names passed him through the entryway.

"My dear old chap," Robert grinned, extending his hand for an overdue handshake. Mr. Reed was shorter than Robert, yet broad-shouldered and surprisingly slim for his old age. Dark-circles lined his eyes as if he lacked sleep; thin, grey hair stood disarrayed on top of his head; his red mess jacket matching that of Robert's. "How good it is to see you."

"And you, Robert," he replied as equally enthused. "Might I introduce my wife, Camille; my daughters, Emma and Penelope; and my son, Michael." The opposite family could all see the striking resemblance the Reed children had with their mother in an uncanny way; their brown hair and eyes shining over their father's once blonde and blue.

Dinner passed much slower than normal, for George at least. Every second was torture as he tried with everything he had not to glance up again, and every time failing. He refused to let his grandmother win - even if his hurt pride would be obvious to no one but himself. Despite the hypocritical feeling that overtook him, just once he wished for Emma to catch his gaze so he could actually focus on his food rather than whom she was looking at. Good God, why wouldn't she just look at him? She had set eyes upon everyone else at the table multiple times, yet refused to even spare a glimpse his way. It couldn't have been anything he'd said – the only thing he'd done was say "hello." Perhaps she was bitter for the same reasons he was. Perhaps her parents only planned on visiting this evening due to the two potential husbands for their daughters that resided here.

"George?" his mother was calling to him from the other end of the table. He snapped his head up from his intense stare with the plate.

"Yes?" he answered, startled as all eyes were on him now – all but ones' of course.

"Mrs. Reed asked you a question," she said agitated.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Reed, forgive me," he directed towards the woman sitting diagonal to him, smiling kindly.

"No that's alright, dear. I was only wondering how your military training was coming along?" she said, ending her sentence with a sip from her glass.

George paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then, after a minute or two of explaining how training was, he went back to brooding at his food until dinner was over and they all moved into the drawing room. Behind the sofa he stood next to Christopher, who was looking at him expectantly. When George didn't act on his brother's looks Chris took it upon himself to confront his own thoughts.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. George rolled his eyes in response.

"She won't even acknowledge my presence, I highly doubt she'll care to give me a kind word," he responded, staring at the floor. "You didn't notice her, maybe, glancing in my direction, did you?"

Christopher shook his head with pursed lips. "No, sorry. I was on the other end of the table remember? – oh that's right, you were too busy staring into Emma's soul to notice." They both grinned, eventually laughing quietly until Nicholas approached them.

"What's so funny?" he asked, coming to stand beside Chris.

"Don't let it slip, but for the first time in his life George is having trouble getting a girl to notice him," Chris whispered in their small group.

"I don't want her to notice me in particular...I just don't understand why she's ignoring the fact that I exist. In fact, it is rude. This is my home. She's the one that was invited to dine here. It's only courteous to speak with everyone."

"Are you talking about Emma? Haven't you noticed? She keeps looking at you," Nick said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George felt numb for a minute. "Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure! Every time you look away, she looks up. It's quite amusing to watch-"

"She's alone!" Christopher broke in, directing all their attention to Emma as she studied the painting on the wall. "Go on!"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, George pulled on the bottom of his jacket in attempt to smooth out any creases that might have formed. With a slight nudge from Nicholas, he started for the corner of the room where she stood away from the rest. Approaching, he noted the painting she was examining.

"My great grandfather," he simply stated, seemingly startling her when she whipped around with widened eyes. Distracted by the golden brown that pierced through him, it was a short pause before he could speak. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," George apologized quickly, mentally kicking himself.

"That's alright," Emma breathed, smiling as she looked back towards the golden-framed painting. "I was admiring his uniform. Was war how he died?" she asked, refusing to meet his gaze once more.

"Um, no. He died a few years later," George said, tongue turning to cotton. "I'm sorry, have I offended you in some way?" he asked boldly, words dying once she turned to look at him, no longer feeling brave.

"What do you mean?" Emma questioned, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

"It's only that…it's quite foolish…I just couldn't help but notice you have, sort of, avoided looking at me all night." Good God he sounded so idiotic. "I was just wondering if I had done something."

She turned back to the wall, an undeniable smirk on her lips. "You haven't done anything," she confirmed. George held his breath, waiting for the rest. "I was…doing it on purpose," she almost whispered, embarrassed to be admitting it.

"You did?" he asked. "May I ask why?"

This it seemed she didn't want to give up either. "I read it…in a magazine."

"I'm sorry, read what in a magazine?"

Emma turned red, trying so hard to limit the threatening grin. "One of those…stupid, useless tips on how to get young men to notice you." At his confused look, she elaborated. "This tip in particular was to avoid any interaction for as long as possible, making the gentleman wonder why he can't get your attention, and eventually approaching to talk to you. I decided to try it – as senseless as it might have been."

George felt a pang in his chest, angry at the manipulative way behind this trick. But before he could tell her how he thought that was a cruel and unusual method to gain someone's affection, all resentment dissipated as he realized her reason behind it all: she'd been trying to get him to notice her. With this, George was now biting his lower lip to suppress his smirk.

"You know," he began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "if you wanted my attention you could have just tried talking to me. I'm very easy to talk to, very likeable," he said smoothly, his confidence returning fully.

"Oh are you?" she replied jokingly, raising eyebrows in laughter.

"I am. Let's see, you're traveling up to the University of Sheffield. Tell me about that," George told her, linking his hands behind his back in full devotion to her words.

Emma smiled bashfully. "Well…I'm going up to view it. If all goes well, I'll be attending there in autumn."

George already knew his next question and the answer. "What do you want to study?"

She shook her head in amusement. "Medicine."

"And I suppose when you graduate, will you be a nurse?" he tested.

"A doctor actually," Emma replied with a proud smile.

George's eyes widened in surprise. "A doctor? Really?"

"Yes, what's wrong that?" she defended.

George snapped back to normality, not wanting to offend her. "Nothing, honestly. I just didn't think there were many female doctors."

"There isn't, but there will be in time. And I want to be one of the firsts," she answered, obviously filled with pride at this opportunity to be a part of such a minority. There was a spark of infatuation in his eyes, impressed by her want to be different.

"And when I get shot in the war, will you be there to take out the bullet?" he joked with a self-assured smile.

Emma chuckled at his ways of asking. "If you mean will I be joining the army after graduation, then…maybe. Even then it would take a great deal of pleading to convince my parents to let me join."

George followed her gaze to the other corner of the room where her parents stood, chatting idly with his own. "I know what you mean. It took six months for my parents to allow me to enlist. But of course, I know they were just looking out for my best interest after all."

"Oh yes, I do understand why they do it but it's just difficult to be stuck in a world of parties and fantasy that are supposed to isolated me from all the bad things when they're so very real," Emma said solemnly, pity in her eyes as she still glanced over his shoulder at her parents.

George sighed for her. "You're right…but you're going to university. You're doing what you want. You won't be stuck anymore," he said in attempt to brighten her mood.

"You're right, I am," she replied with sparkling eyes. "Maybe I'll actually hear a piece of news about the war without having to eavesdrop or sneak minutes with the wireless." He chuckled, happy to simply be talking to her. After a settled moment, Emma diverted the discussion to him. "So what's it like being a soldier? I obviously don't hear much, but when I actually do I always hear things about the brave men fighting for our country."

Nearly blushing, he stared at his feet. "Well, I'm not a soldier yet, having just finished training and all. Though I will be starting next week, but you won't be around to hear all the war stories next time I come home," George answered with a small smile.

Emma froze a moment, an impulse coming to mind but unsure on whether or not to act on it. Biting her bottom lip, she gazed at him a long moment and decided that war could do so much to them in the future, she may never get this chance again. "You can write to me then, tell me all about the adventurous life of a military man."

Quite taken aback by this, George gaped at her a second. "I – um, well…alright," he finally settled on, deciding that the fact they just met meant nothing - it was 1940 for God's sake and there was a war raging on. "How will I get your address while you're at school and I'm away?"

She had clearly already figured it out in her head. "Don't worry, George, you'll hear from me," Emma said with a devious smile.

"Emma?" Mr. Reed called from the opposite corner of the room. "We're going," he stated, nodding to George then heading for the door with her brother and sister in tow.

She looked up at him with sympathetic eyes at the bluntness that of her father, then quickly transforming to confident. "I'll be talking to you soon, Private Crawley. Goodnight."

With this, Emma walked past him to follow her family and just like that she was gone. George looked to the floor once she'd disappeared from sight, concealing his grin from the rest of his family – especially Christopher and Nicholas. Standing there for a long moment, he mentally praised himself for keeping silent earlier or he would have had quite a large apology to make to his grandmother about how wrong he was.


End file.
